House of Cards
by TheScarletOctopus
Summary: Tori and Trina always thought of their parents as the textbook example of a perfect marriage-so when they learn that their mother is having an affair, they're naturally shocked. But that's just the beginning. The edifice of secrets and lies David and Holly Vega built up over twenty years is about to come crashing down-and the Vega sisters' lives may be collateral damage.
1. Suspicions

**A/N: To those who voted at the end of "The Computer Wore Short Shorts"…I'm really sorry. I realize that this has nothing to do with either of the options I put forward. But I was watching the latest episode this week, and was a little taken aback by the casual throwaway gag about (implied) infidelity, and, well, this idea sort of popped into my head and refused to leave me alone. I hope you'll find it at least somewhat interesting. (Also, please note that due to my hectic work schedule, updates may be a little…sporadic.)**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

By all rights, Tori Vega should have been content that Friday evening. Her crazed nemesis "Ponnie" was safely behind bars; Trina was slowly recovering from her (frankly rather disgusting) head cold; and Jade, still furious with Cat over the Great Eyebrow Fiasco, was presently leaving Tori more or less alone, as even she didn't have enough energy to maintain two grudges at once. And yet, as Tori stared at her swiftly cooling plate of pasta primavera, she could not help thinking of the odd remarks that her mother and her father's partner Gary had made the day before:

"I'll text Gary. I text him all the time. He's so handsome, isn't he?"

"Say hello to your mother for me. She's a fine woman…"

It was purely innocuous, wasn't it? It _had_ to be. For as long as Tori had been alive, her parents had been devoted to one another, practically joined at the hip. Her mother would never cheat on her father, any more than he would be unfaithful to her.

So Tori kept telling herself; but despite her best efforts, the message was not sinking in.

"Aren't you hungry, dear?" Holly Vega asked, watching her daughter with concern. They were alone at the dinner table; David Vega would not return for another two days, and Trina had taken a medicinal cocktail so potent that she wouldn't wake up even if the house were hit by an artillery shell.

At first, Tori didn't answer, but merely pushed the noodles around her plate with her fork, like a small child playing with her food. She couldn't bring herself to look her mother in the eye. _How can I possibly explain to her what's bothering me without setting her off?_

"Would you like a little parmesan cheese? That might give it some zest…Tori?"

"I…I'm sorry, Mom. This whole Ponnie thing has just thrown me off a little, I guess."

"Well, that's understandable. Gary told me once how prevalent the problem of stalking is. It's frightening how irrational some people can be."

"Really? When exactly did Gary tell you that?"

Tori had not been able to fully disguise the sharpness in her voice, and her mother was slightly taken aback. "Why…um…it was a few months ago, when your father and I had him over for dinner. While you were in Yerba, as I recall."

"Gotcha." Ashamed, Tori looked down and resumed rolling up her noodles into a spool. _Why did I ask that? Am I so suspicious that I just assumed it was 'pillow talk'? Jesus, what's __**wrong**__ with me?_

Holly Vega took a sip of red wine. "So, do you have any big plans for this evening?"

"Hm? Oh, no. Just washin' my hair and then some TV."

"Too bad. I had hoped you and Andre might have something planned. He's such a nice boy." To Tori's amazement, Holly winked at her.

"Mom! Are you trying to play matchmaker?"

"Me? A matchmaker? Perish the thought."

Tori chuckled at her mother; but even as she did so, a tiny voice whispered in the back of her mind:

_Why is she so keen on getting you out of the house?_

_Shut up,_ she silently answered. _It's just Mom being Mom. There's no conspiracy here._

_Are you really so sure?_

_Of __**course**__ I'm sure!_

…_Aren't I?_

A plan hatched in Tori's mind.

"You know what? I just remembered – I'm supposed to meet Jade and Cat at Jade's house to rehearse a scene."

Holly Vega raised an eyebrow. "On a Friday night?"

"It's…um…it's the only time that we all had free. We have to do the scene Monday morning for Sikowitz."

"Oh. What time will you be back?"

"Probably not until midnight at the earliest."

Was Tori imagining things, or did the ghost of a smile pass across her mother's face?

"Do you need a ride?"

"That's okay – I'll take the bus down, and Jade can give me a ride back."

"If you're sure. Hope everything goes well."

Holly rose and carried the plates to the kitchen sink, humming softly to herself. Staring at her back, Tori thought, _Have I really sunk so low that I'm deceiving my own mother? This is pathetic._

_But I have to know for sure. One way or another, I have to know._

"Take care, Mom," she called as she opened the front door, backpack in hand. "I'll see you later."

"Good night, baby."

And, unseen by anyone, Tori Vega quietly circled around to the side of her house and concealed herself in the bushes, watching the driveway.

/

It was a long and none too pleasant wait. Bugs crawled over Tori's bare legs as she knelt in the scratchy grass; the night was hot and humid, and sweat ran down the back of her neck. But within an hour, her patience was rewarded. Headlights signaled the approach of a gray sedan that slowly rolled into the drive. The engine was turned off, and a moment later a tall figure eased itself out of the driver's seat.

At first, distance and darkness prevented Tori from making out any facial features. But at last the figure came to the front door, and the porch light fell full on his face; and as she saw the telltale graying temples, she gasped.

Gary.

He knocked softly: three times in quick succession, twice slowly, then three times quickly once again.

_Are you kidding me?_ she thought. _He actually has a __**secret knock?**_

The door opened. From the angle at which she crouched, Tori could not see her mother greet Gary; but the ear-to-ear grin on his face was unmistakable. He disappeared within, and a moment later the porch light was switched off.

Tori waited a few moments, then clambered to her feet and slipped to the back door. Her hand shook as she fitted the key into the lock, but she still managed to turn the key quietly, and to slide the door open softly.

The dining room was entirely dark. Picking her way through the murky obstacles, not daring to turn on a light, she groped toward the stairs, taking care to confine her footsteps to the edges of the steps so as not to make them creak. Ironic, she thought, that she had learned that technique from her police officer father.

When she was halfway up, she heard their voices. Most of the words they exchanged were too low to be distinct – they were taking no chances of waking Trina, she guessed – but every now and then a childish giggle cut through the sea of murmurs.

Tori could bear it no longer. Throwing caution to the winds, she sprinted up the last few steps and threw wide her parents' bedroom door.

Even in the darkness, she could make out the contours of her mother's and Gary's bodies beneath the sheets – and their faces, staring at her, mouths open with utter shock.

And at that moment she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.


	2. No More Deceit

**A/N: Wow, many more reviews for Chapter 1 than I had anticipated. Now the pressure's truly on to keep this story interesting. And, in that spirit, I give you…a chapter that's pretty much nothing but dialogue. Yeah. *hangs head in shame***

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

This was not the reaction Tori had expected from her father. She had been sure – truth be told, she had _hoped_ – that he would scream and rant at her mother, maybe break down sobbing. After all, Tori herself had done all those things already, in the seemingly endless two days between her horrible discovery and her father's return. But instead, David Vega simply sat on the couch, hands folded, staring into the distance, seemingly as oblivious to the argument going around him as an outcrop of rock beaten by the waves of the ocean.

"How could you do that to Dad? In the bed you share? Do you have any sense of shame at _all_?"

Holly Vega stared downward into her lap, where her hands worked busily at a pair of knitting needles – a nervous tic she had whenever she wanted to distract herself from her surroundings. "You don't understand, Tori. It's more complicated than you think."

"Complicated? Just what the hell is 'complicated' about it? Jesus, Mom, Gary is Dad's _partner_! They depend on each other to stay _alive_! And now, thanks to you, Dad can never trust Gary again."

"It's not an issue. Gary's asking to be reassigned."

"Oh. Well, that just makes everything better, doesn't it?" Tori said with a sneer.

"What do you want from me, Tori? How many times can I apologize to you before it'll satisfy you?"

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to!" She gestured toward her father. "Can you even _imagine_ how much you must have hurt him?"

Her mother replied in a quiet but firm tone, "There's no need for me to apologize to David. We already have an understanding."

Tori stared at her in slack-jawed amazement. "Oh, my God. This is unbelievable." She turned to her sister, who was slumped in an armchair in the corner. "Trina, say something! Help me out here!"

"Leave me out of this," Trina whispered. "Please."

Tori was about to cry out in anger at her sister's uselessness, when she caught sight of Trina's eyes. Much as Trina's egotism and non-stop prattle had always annoyed her, Tori knew that they sprang from an inner vibrancy, a zest for life, for which Tori had always felt a certain admiration. It was that energy that allowed Trina to stand up for Tori in those moments when the younger Vega sister was tempted to give in to despair, or was being cruelly treated by the world at large. But now, the light that had always shone in Trina's eyes had gone out. Nothing remained but utter hollowness. Her facial muscles had lost their tone, too, and her body was wholly slack. She had become a rag doll.

Tori's eyes watered. She turned back to her mother. "Do you see, Mom? Do you see what you did to Trina?"

"You know I never meant for either of you to get hurt."

Now, for the first time, David Vega spoke. There was, indeed, anger in his voice, and bitterness as well. But the words themselves were so startling to Tori as to be all but incomprehensible.

"Dammit, Holly, all I ever asked of you was to be discreet, and you couldn't even manage that."

"Ha! I'd say you asked a fair bit more out of me than that."

Tori looked from one parent to the other. "W-what? What are you guys talking about?"

And then, as she looked upon the supremely tired face of her father, it hit her.

"You _knew_?"

"Of _course_ I knew, Tori. I'm not an idiot."

"And you're _okay_ with it?"

"It's not as if it's the first time," he muttered.

Tori felt as if she had just been slapped in the face. "Not the first time? But – how long has this been going on?"

"As long as you've been alive," her mother whispered. "Longer."

"You've been seeing Gary all that time?"

Holly's cheeks flushed, and she seemed unable to answer. David laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, no. Your _mother_ isn't capable of that sort of monogamy. Gary's just the latest in a long, long line. Isn't he, Holly dear?" He practically spat out the last word.

A current of anger shot through Holly's hitherto meek expression. She half-rose from her chair, dropping her knitting needles. "Drop the moral superiority act, will you, David? That 'long line' is what got you where you are today."

The whole room was swimming around Tori. _None of this is real. It's a dream. A nightmare. That's got to be it. _She pinched her forearm as forcefully as she could, and winced at the pain, but to her dismay, nothing changed.

"Tell me." She forced out the words through a throat as tight as though it were being clenched shut by an invisible fist. "Tell me the truth. All of it."

Holly Vega sank back into her chair and sighed. "I suppose you deserve that much."

She took a deep breath and began. "We never wanted to get married, Tori. There was a physical attraction, yes, but David was just a beat cop. And I-I wanted bigger and better things for myself. But one night at a party we had a little too much to drink, and…that's where Trina came from."

Tori involuntarily looked over her shoulder. If Trina was listening, she gave no sign of it.

"David's parents were very old-fashioned, and so were mine. They put unbelievable pressure on us not to let Trina be born out of wedlock. And eventually we gave in – even though, in our hearts, we knew we didn't really love each other, and never would."

_Oh, please, God, let me wake up…_

"Just after Trina was born, I started an affair with David's precinct captain. He liked me a lot, and when we were…together, he was…loose with his tongue. When David found out, he and I came to an agreement. I would be free to see other people when I liked, and in exchange, I would share with David the information – the gossip – I picked up. Then he could use it to his advantage."

"Advantage? You mean blackmail?"

She winced slightly, as did he. "I wouldn't put it quite that way. David was at the bottom of the career ladder, and to make headway, being a good cop wasn't enough. He needed advantages. I supplied them. Quid pro quo."

"But – that's not how marriage is supposed to be!" Tori was openly weeping now. "It should be based on love, and caring! Not some business contract!"

Suddenly, David turned toward her with a look of contempt. "I had no idea you were so naïve, Tori. Do you really think that's how life works? Fairy-tale castles and beds strewn with roses? Get real. I'm a _cop,_ Tori. Your mother doesn't have a job. How the hell are we supposed to afford all this-" he waved his hand about to indicate their home- "and still play by the rules? The deal we worked out was the only way to make this family a going concern. And we were doing pretty well, too – until your _mother_ got sloppy."

Tori's hands began to shake uncontrollably. She tried to force herself to regain self-control, but without success. "How am I supposed to go on living, knowing this? Knowing that the happy family I always thought I had is just one big lie?"

"You'll just have to find a way, Tori," David Vega replied. "You're a big girl; you can handle yourself."

She had never known him to speak to her so coldly, so distantly. She felt as though a curtain were being pulled back, and she were seeing her father for the first time, as a complete stranger, someone who had nothing to do with her beyond sharing the same house.

And it was at that moment that the little voice in the back of her mind, the one that had warned her before and started this whole dreadful chain of events, returned.

_Your mom started sleeping around right after your sister was born._

_And since the truth came out, she's always called your dad "David" when speaking to you. She's never said "your father". Not __**once.**__ Even though she always used to._

The connection was there, staring her in the face, even though she would gladly have sold her soul not to make it.

When next she spoke, it was slow and deliberate.

"Mom, I need to know one more thing. How long were you with Dad's precinct captain?"

Holly Vega stared into her lap once again, and softly answered, "About a year."

_Don't do the math, Tori. Whatever you do, __**don't do the math.**_

_It's all a nightmare…_

"Mom?"

"Yes?" The reply was barely audible.

"Who is my father?"

Her mother's total silence was all the answer she needed.

Tori turned to the man whom she no longer knew what to call. As she opened her mouth to say something, anything, he turned away from her and pressed his hand over his eyes.

Without even knowing what she was doing, as devoid of conscious intent as if she were a marionette on strings, Tori Vega stood up. She ascended the stairs slowly. Five minutes later she reappeared, her numb right hand clutching a heavy suitcase.

Paying no heed to her mother, her sister, or David Vega, Tori walked out the front door.

And she kept on going, hastening her pace to a trot and then to a dead run, ignoring the buildup of lactic acid in her legs as it turned from a dull ache to searing pain, until at last, halfway across Los Angeles, she reached the door she wanted and pressed the bell.

A minute later, André Harris answered the door, to find Tori slumped half-conscious on the stoop.


	3. Jacob and Esau

**A/N: It may be a while before the next update, due to my work commitments.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

"Nicely done, Holly," said David Vega.

"What was I supposed to do? Lie to her?"

"You've been doing it for seventeen years – why stop now?"

Like a little child, Trina Vega shut her eyes and clapped her hands over her ears. Her parents, absorbed in their bickering, paid no attention.

She wished she had the strength to follow Tori's lead, to simply get up and walk out. But the moment that her younger sister – no, _half_-sister – had told her of their mother's infidelity, it was as though the life had been sucked out of her. She could envision no future, no happiness, now that she bore the crushing weight of this knowledge. Perhaps she would simply remain where she was, curled up in a little ball in the comfort of this armchair, until cobwebs grew upon her and the house crumbled to dust around her. It was a dreadful vision, yet, at this moment, strangely satisfying to think about.

"One of us has to go find her."

"She'll come back, Holly. It's just a temper tantrum."

"Do you really believe that? Are you really that out of touch with reality? Jesus Christ, David…"

"Don't talk to me like that! All of this is your fault, you damn _slut_!"

"Stop it," Trina whispered.

Her parents didn't hear.

" 'Slut'? This coming from the man who owes his whole damn _career_ to me? You've got some nerve…"

"Stop it," Trina said again, louder. Still she went unheeded.

"I never should have let you talk me into getting married. If you'd just had an abortion like I told you to, we would never have gotten stuck in this hell…"

Trina Vega cracked.

"Stop it stop it stop it STOP IT! God _damn_ you, **STOP IT!**"

She sprang from her chair and punctuated her outburst with a swift kick to the coffee table that sent it crashing onto its side. David and Holly stared at her, open-mouthed.

"So you didn't want me, huh? Now it all makes sense. The neglect. The contempt. The mockery. You've hated me since the day I was born!"

Her father squirmed like a trapped animal. "Trina, baby, I…what I just said…I didn't mean it. You know how my temper gets sometimes. Whatever differences your mother and I may have, we both consider you a blessing…"

"Liar," she snarled. "No _wonder _you've always favored Tori." Her voice broke. "For God's sake, Dad, she isn't even your own _child_, and you _still_ treat me like dirt compared to her."

"Don't be a drama queen, Trina. We've always indulged your whims. Bought you nice things, endured your temper tantrums. Hell, we even let you go to Hollywood Arts when you weren't…" He broke off mid-sentence, as if he had realized that he'd said too much.

"When I wasn't what? Wasn't _talented_?"

"You weren't even supposed to _be_ there, Trina. Your teacher - Mr. Sikowitz – explained to us early on that you'd only gotten in because he had one of his coconut-milk 'visions'. Principal Ikner wanted to kick you out when he heard about it. But we _fought_ for you, Trina. Your mother told the principal that this had always been your dream, and it would break your heart if you were forced to leave. You owe _everything_ to us, and you're still going to tell me that I 'treat you like dirt'?"

Trina's head spun. "So…I owe the last four years of my life at Hollywood Arts – the only time, the only place, that I've _ever_ been happy – to a drug-addled _idiot_ and the fact that you felt _sorry_ for me?"

"Look, Trina, face it. You're never going to amount to anything as an actress or a singer. Pretty soon you'll be off to college, and then you'll have to get a _real_ job. Your mother and I figured that you should at least have a little time to indulge your fantasies before you had to face reality."

Trina stared at her parents, and as she considered all that she had just heard, a feeling welled up inside her that she had never before imagined she could experience toward anyone, let alone those who had brought her into the world. It was hatred. Pure, unfettered hatred, that seared into her spine and made her legs tremble. She did not know these people who called themselves her mother and father. She did not _want_ to know them.

"So," she hissed between clenched teeth, "you lied to Tori. You lied to me. Is there anyone, ever, that you've actually told the _truth_ to?"

"That's enough," cried her mother. "I will _not_ be lectured to by my spoiled, insufferable _brat_ of a daughter!"

"Tori had the right idea," Trina whispered. "I'm out of here. You two can rot in _hell_ for all that I care."

"Oh, please." Her father had at last dropped all pretense, and spoke to her now in a mocking, jeering tone. "At least Tori has_ friends_ she can stay with. Who exactly are _you_ going to turn to? How are you going to support yourself without our help? Don't kid yourself, Trina – run out on us, and within the month you'll be forced to turn streetwalker."

"That would be better than this." And, without another word, Trina turned on her heel and walked out the front door.

A few moments later, the quiet of the little suburban street was broken by the roar of a car starting up, and the squeal of tires as it tore out of the driveway. Trina's Buick sped away, the aging engine struggling to keep up as she stamped down on the accelerator.

Then there was silence once again in the Vega household, save for the steady ticking of the grandfather clock that marked the inexorable passing of the minutes, and the soft breathing of the two people who remained.

At last David Vega rose and set the coffee table upright again. "I'm late for my shift," he muttered.

"I've got to pick up some food at the store," Holly Vega answered. "I guess…" A small quaver entered her voice. "I guess I won't need to buy as much for dinner tonight."

They went their separate ways, neither turning to look back at the other.


	4. First Meeting

**A/N: I hope you don't mind the brief authorial filibuster in this chapter. In case you didn't figure it out from "Trina, Interrupted," one of my pet peeves about **_**Victorious**_** (and Dan Schneider in general, really) is the attitude "Mental illness is hilarious". Also, thanks for all the reviews. I know that this story emphasizes talk over action, but I hope that you're enjoying it nonetheless.**

Normally, Tori considered herself a patient person, but this was really pushing her to her limits.

"Yes, I just need to know the name of David Vega's precinct captain seventeen years ago…yes, Vega, V-E-G-A…No, I'm not _sure_ exactly where, but I think it was somewhere in East L.A….yes, I'll hold. _Again._"

As "Dancing Queen" came on once again – _doesn't the LAPD have any hold music besides _ABBA_?_, she thought – Tori sighed heavily and took the phone from her ear for a moment. She was beginning to wonder whether this was a fruitless quest. After all, she had no idea whether this man knew that he was her father; he might not even realize that she existed, and, if so, her just showing up on his doorstep would surely be a nasty shock. But still and all, Tori firmly believed that she had a right to know where she really came from – and, she thought darkly, given that this man had had no problem sleeping with the wife of one of his subordinates, maybe he _deserved _to get a nasty shock.

A cry came from the doorway, making Tori jump. "I DON'T KNOW YOU!"

"It's all right, Mrs. Harris. I'm Andre's friend Tori, remember? I'm just staying here for a little while. I don't mean you any harm."

The elderly woman eyed the young Latina up and down. "…You're sure you're not one of them?"

"Who's 'them'?" asked Tori warily.

"The ones who come into my bedroom at night. They mess with my brain while I'm sleeping – put wires in it. I can feel them…" Charlotte Harris began to tremble. "Oh, God, I can _feel_ them – burning into my _head_…"

Tori had always found Andre's grandmother to be an annoyance at best, and at worst, more than a little terrifying. Now, though, it dawned on her just how sick the poor woman truly was. Visual and auditory hallucinations, paranoia, illogic – all the textbook signs were there: schizophrenia. And yet, despite the torment Charlotte had to endure every waking moment of her life, she still found the strength to love and care for Andre. How sharp a contrast with Tori's own parents, who bore no such burdens, yet thought only of themselves.

"I'm so sorry that you have to go through that, Mrs. Harris," she whispered. "I wish there was some way I could keep you safe from them. I really do."

For the first time, Charlotte visibly relaxed. She looked at Tori with a newfound lack of anxiety – or was it even, perhaps, affection? "No one ever talked to me like that before except Andre. Thank you. I hope you can stay here longer."

"It…may be a while, actually," said Tori softly. In truth, she had no idea whether she would _ever_ go home. But then, she couldn't impose on Andre forever…

"Hello?" came a small voice from the phone. "Are you still there, Miss Vega?"

Tori had momentarily forgotten all about her quest. Hurriedly she raised the phone to her ear. "Sorry about that. Were you able to track him down?"

"Yes, I believe I've found the name you were looking for. Captain Harry Reynolds."

_Harry Reynolds. Harry Reynolds is my father._ Tori's voice wavered as she went on: "I know this is a lot to ask, and you probably have all kinds of privacy regulations and stuff, but could I have an address for him? Home or work, I don't care which one. It's really important. He's…I can't believe I'm telling this to a complete stranger, but…I'm pretty sure he's my biological father."

The voice on the other end of the line, previously so curt and officious, suddenly became hesitant. "Miss Vega, there's something you need to know…"

A minute later, as Andre Harris puttered about the kitchen, making peppered omelets for breakfast, Tori walked in, her face completely white.

Andre immediately dropped what he was doing. "What's the matter, muchacha? What happened?"

"I need.." Tori whispered. "…I need you to drive me somewhere, please."

/

The morning dew was still on the tall grass as the two of them trudged through it. Andre had wanted to stay by the car – this would be an intensely private moment for Tori, and he felt he should stay out of it – but she had insisted that he come. She had a strong presentiment that she would need his shoulder to lean on.

The cemetery was in poor repair. Wind and rain had long since scrubbed away the names on the grave markers beneath their feet, rendering them illegible. Many of the taller tombstones had cracked and fallen. A limestone angel lay on its side, its finely carved tears now impossibly flowing sideways. Tori was at first unsure whether she would even be able to find what she was looking for.

But she was fortunate – or, rather, Harry Reynolds had been fortunate. For his gravestone – a simple red granite pillar, barely three feet high – still stood, silent and watchful, near the fence that marked the farthest boundary of the cemetery.

1950-2003. He had been 45 when he fathered Tori, 53 when he died. Old enough that he shouldn't have faced any risks greater than cutting his fingers while shuffling papers. But then, he never could have predicted he would be mugged on a simple night trip to the corner store. And he certainly couldn't have known that the mugger had a partner, ready and waiting to stab Harry Reynolds in the back.

After decades of service as a cop, a completely random death. Bleeding out behind a trash can in a dirty alley, alone, probably terrified. Tori wondered whether David Vega would someday meet the same end.

She knelt and laid the bouquet of flowers she'd hurriedly bought at the foot of the gravestone. Her hand ran over the shallowly incised letters that were now all that was left of her father's existence.

"Who were you?" she said to the morning air. "Were you a good man? I know you slept with other men's wives, and you had loose lips, but…you spent so many years trying to protect other people. That has to say something about what you were like, right? Please tell me it does."

She began to weep soundlessly. Andre laid his hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him. "I'll never know what his voice sounded like, 'Dre. I'll never know what his favorite food was, or what movies he liked. I'll never know…what he thought about me…if he knew…if he loved me…"

Andre pulled her close, and let her sob into his chest, as the rays of the morning sun fell upon Harry Reynolds' grave.


	5. Not Who You Are

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating – I'm facing the double whammy of work and chronic illness. Also, thanks for all the reviews so far.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

In a worthless little dive off Route 41, Trina Vega perched uncomfortably on a disturbingly sticky barstool and swirled a glass of vodka in her hand. Over the loudspeaker, a country singer wailed just off-key about his two-timing wife. Trina tried to tune it out, but the music surrounded her, searing into her brain. She took another swig, and gasped as the liquor burned its way down her throat. This was a filthy place, but not only from the inevitable accretions of dirt and spilled drink – decay seemed to ooze from the very fabric of the building. A dusty wind from the access road blew in through the half-opened window; fine particles settled in Trina's hair. On either side of her men with leathery, wrinkled faces bent over half-emptied glasses, some silent, some murmuring confusedly. At a table behind her three black-jacketed bikers, obviously on their fifth or sixth round, roared with laughter and slapped one another's hands in congratulation over some real or imagined joke.

"Give me another," said Trina as she shoved her empty glass across the bar. The bartender gave her a doubting look. "You sure you can handle it, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. And don't call me 'sweetheart'."

"Hey, now. Play nice, or I might ask to see some ID."

Trina flushed a bright red. She had no desire to be thrown out for being underage. "Sorry, sorry."

"It's okay." He filled up her glass to the brim. "So, tell me, what's eating you?"

"What makes you think something's eating me?"

"I've been doing this long enough to know how people think, kid. No one comes in here and polishes off that many in a row unless they've got _something_ weighing on their mind."

"It's…complicated." She looked up at him. "You ever get the feeling that you're not wanted anywhere?"

"Nah. Everybody's wanted _somewhere_, kid. It's just a matter of lookin' hard enough to find the right place."

"You're quite the philosopher."

He grinned. "Comes with the territory. That'll be twelve bucks, by the way."

She fished in her wallet and pulled out the cash. With the exception of a couple of quarters, it was the last she had. For a moment she stared into the empty wallet, caught in the grip of despair. No dinner tonight, it seemed. And she hadn't had lunch either. God, how embarrassing it would be if she fainted from low blood sugar in_ this_ wretched place.

One of the bikers left his table and walked unsteadily towards Trina.

"Hey, babe," he whispered in her ear. "You look lonely. Want some company?"

She turned to examine him more closely. He was heavily tattooed and unshaven, and his eyes were bleary; but he was tall and muscular, and she wanted someone strong to hold her right about now.

"Yeah, sure," she answered.

"Not here, though," he said. "Too crowded. Too many eyes on us. How about we go around back and enjoy the privacy?"

"I don't know…" What did it matter? What did _anything_ matter anymore? "…Okay, fine."

Ignoring the bartender's frowning look, the biker took Trina's hand and half led her, half pulled her, out of the front door and around to the shade of a little wooden shack behind the bar. Without a word, he discarded his jacket, leering at her all the while.

She knew what people thought of her. They might think she didn't hear the whispers behind her back, but she was more perceptive than they realized. "Loose." "Cheap." "Whore." But she wasn't any of those things – she might throw herself at boys like Beck at every opportunity, but that was only the consequence of a desperate need for someone, anyone, to show her affection. The truth was, this would be Trina Vega's first time. And, much to her surprise, she was absolutely scared to death.

She had always imagined that her first time would come on her wedding night – or, failing that, at least with someone whom she loved and trusted completely, a man who would see her as the most beautiful woman in the world. And instead here she was, about to rut in the dirt like some barnyard animal with a guy whose name she didn't know. It was pathetic, really. But then, so was she. Wasn't she broke and alone, unwanted and unloved by her own parents? Realistically, this was the best she could ever hope for – and it might be the last time in her life when sex didn't involve a money exchange.

He all but threw her down and planted himself atop her, then began to unbutton her blouse. She sighed and closed her eyes.

_This is not who you are._

She had no idea where the thought came from, but it echoed again and again in her head and would not leave her.

_You are better than this._

"Oh, like hell I am," she said aloud. He raised an eyebrow and said, "Who exactly are you talking to?"

_You deserve better. Even if you really are alone in the world, you are Trina Vega, and you are strong. Don't give in._

"But what choice do I have?"

"Oh, great," he muttered. "I _would_ have to pick a crazy chick."

_You __**always**__ have a choice. No matter what._

"I always have a choice…"

He groaned impatiently. "Look, are we gonna do this already, or are you just gonna talk to your imaginary friend all day?"

She looked up into his hungry eyes, bloodshot with drink.

_I __**am **__better than this._

She pushed him off – gently, but firmly – with one hand, and pulled her blouse shut with the other.

"I'm sorry," she said hurriedly as she scrambled to her feet. "This…this is wrong. I can't. Not like this. Forgive me."

"_What?_" he spat. "You get me all worked up like that, and then you blow me off at the last second? Who the hell do you think you are?"

His contemptuous tone raised Trina's hackles. "Did you not get the message? We're not doing this."

He took a step forward and grabbed her by the wrist, then pulled her so close that she could smell the bourbon on his breath. "That's not up to you to decide, _bitch_."

An instant later, he buckled as Trina's fist landed in his stomach. As he dropped to his knees, she planted a right cross squarely on his jaw.

"Decision made," she snapped to his prostrate form, and walked away.

Back at her car, she leaned forward a moment to collect herself, her forehead pressing against the metal frame. It was fiercely hot, yet strangely comforting. She took one deep breath, then a second; and in those few brief moments she came to a conclusion. She had always thought herself too proud to beg- but if this was the future that awaited her otherwise, begging suddenly looked like a perfectly acceptable option. And besides, the bartender had a point. She still had at least _one_ friend in the world.

She pulled out her PearPhone, retrieved the long-unused number from the depths of her memory, and dialed.

"Hi hi!," came the cheery voice. "Who is this?"

"It's Trina, Cat. Don't you have caller ID?"

"TRINA! Trina-beena-fo-feena! Of _course_ I don't have caller ID, silly – it spoils the surprise! What's up?"

"I hate to just drop this on you out of the blue, but…I need a favor. A big favor."

There was silence on the other end of the line. When Cat spoke again, it was as if a switch had been thrown; the bubbliness was gone from her voice, replaced by quiet concern. "Trina, what's wrong?"

"I…oh, God, Cat, everything. _Everything's_ wrong."

"Are you safe? Do you need help?"

"I'm safe, but I don't think I'm good to drive. I've been drinking."

"Well, in that case, how's about I come pick you up? I'll take you back to my house, and you can tell me all about whatever's bothering you." Then, more cheerily: "And_ I_ can tell _you_ about the time my brother ran away at the zoo and got into a kickboxing match with a kangaroo!"

"Sure, Cat," Trina replied, tears of joy streaming down her face. "I'd love to hear about it."


	6. Breaking Away

**A/N: Not my best work, but I didn't want to go too long between updates. Also, if you haven't noticed it, I've put up a standing offer on my profile page for anyone who'd like to give me a quirky/bizarre story idea and see whether I can convert it into a one-shot.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

"Here comes the little airplane, into the hangar…"

They were the words a mother would normally use when spoon-feeding a toddler; but in fact it was Andre Harris who spoke, and it was his grandmother who reluctantly opened her mouth to receive the spoonful of applesauce into which her medication had been mashed. She couldn't bear to swallow pills whole, even with water; only after a previous injection of anti-psychotics, which rendered her docile as a kitten, was she able even to accept these crushed tablets.

"I ate it – all of it," she said happily.

"Good. Good for you, Grandma. Now why don't you take a nap?"

"That sounds nice. You should watch a movie with that nice Vega girl while I'm sleeping."

"Maybe I will."

"Sing to me, please," she whispered.

And he began to croon:

_Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee _

_All through the night _

_Guardian angels God will send thee _

_All through the night _

_Soft the drowsy hours are creeping _

_Hill and dale in slumber sleeping _

_I my loving vigil keeping _

_All through the night… _

She was fast asleep before he had reached the last line. On tiptoe he left the bedroom, shut the door, and headed for the kitchen, where Tori sat at the little table with a calculator ready to hand, poring over bank statements and credit card bills.

She looked up at him with a tired smile. "Did you get her down?"

"Yeah, at least for now. How's the number-crunching coming?"

"Well, thanks to the money I got from Mason Thornesmith, I think I'm in pretty good shape."

"Sure was generous of him to give you that much."

Tori smirked. "Not so much generosity as pragmatism on his part. Once he realized that I could sue him into the poorhouse for breach of contract for firing me the day before the Platinum Awards, he was more than happy to pacify me with a lump sum."

"Girl, you do know how to drive a hard bargain."

"I guess I do, at that." She turned off the calculator and rested her head in her hands. After a moment, she said: "Andre, maybe this is unacceptable prying, and you can tell me to go to hell if you want, but…where are your parents? Shouldn't they be helping you take care of your grandma?"

He sighed heavily. "If it were anybody but you asking, muchacha, I might call it prying, but I know I can trust you not to tell anybody else."

"Of course," Tori replied, squeezing his hand.

"…Truth is, I have no idea where my parents are. They both have jobs that require a lot of travel – my dad's a businessman, my mom's a foreign service attaché – and round about the time I turned thirteen years old, they basically decided that their jobs were a good excuse not to bother with the whole 'parenting' thing. I get postcards – letters if I'm lucky – and every so often they wire money; but otherwise, I've been on my own since then. Grandma tried to fill the gap, but after about a year her schizophrenia started raging out of control."

"Jesus, Andre. Shouldn't you tell social services or somebody? You can't just let your parents neglect you like that."

"I probably should…but I can't bring myself to. If I did, I'd wind up in foster care, and they'd put Grandma in a home somewhere. And she _needs_ me, Tori. You've seen how she reacts to anybody who isn't family. She'd never make it, having to rely on strangers for her medical care."

"So you just…handle things by yourself? You're the parent?"

"I don't have any other choice." He turned half away. "So, do you think I'm pathetic or what, having to spoon-feed my grandma?"

"Not 'pathetic' so much as 'amazing'," Tori replied with a smile. "I don't think I could ever pull off what you've managed to do."

"I don't know about that. You're stronger than you think you are, muchacha."

She thought for a moment, studying her bank balance once again, mulling over the future; and replied at last:

"Maybe I am, you know? Maybe I really am."

/

_One week later_

David Vega listlessly cleaned his service weapon in the garage. His wife was, as usual, off shopping. _Spending my hard-earned money,_ he thought bitterly.

At the very edge of his hearing came a faint knocking sound. At first he was unsure whether he'd imagined it, but then it came again, louder. After locking his gun in the cabinet, he went to the front door.

To his astonishment, it was Tori.

Without a word of greeting, she thrust a sheaf of papers into his hand. He stared at them in confusion, his eyes drawn to the judge's signature and notary's stamp at the foot of the last page. "What on earth? What _is _all this?"

"All the paperwork needed to declare me an emancipated minor."

"Are you kidding me? You're just going to cut ties with us, as if we weren't your parents?"

"_You're_ **not** my 'parent'," Tori replied icily. "And besides, I don't have any interest in living with people who lie to me, despise each other, and treat my sister like garbage."

David tossed the papers aside. "I'm not going to stand for this. I've been a cop for twenty years, Tori - I know plenty of people in the legal system. It's not going to be difficult at all for me to get this reversed."

"Why? What's the point? You know I'll be bitterly unhappy every moment I'm in this house."

"Your happiness or unhappiness is not the issue, missy," he snarled. "It's the _principle_ of the thing. No one walks away from me. Especially somebody who owes me as much as you do. Cut ties with me? Hell, you should be _groveling at my feet_ begging for my forgiveness. Do you have any idea how _hard_ it's been for me, raising you for seventeen years, and being reminded every time I see your face that I'm a cuckold stuck with the bastard offspring of my slut of a wife?"

Tori slapped him across the face. He put his hand to his stinging cheek as his features contorted into a mask of rage. "God damn you. God DAMN you, Tori!"

Ignoring the outburst, she said, perfectly calmly and coolly: "Let's get something straight, 'Dad'. The minute you try to contest my emancipation, I'll inform everyone in the LAPD, from the commissioner down to the interns who fetch coffee, about precisely _how_ you've gotten so far up the career ladder since you married Mom. After that? Best case scenario: you're out of a job and utterly humiliated. Worst case scenario: you go to prison. I hear ex-cops have a really fun time of it behind bars, what with all those bad guys they've put away over the years breathing down their necks…"

"You wouldn't dare," he replied, but there was no more bravado behind his words – instead, he was visibly shaken by the threat.

"Do you really want to take that chance?"

"But…but that's blackmail…"

"Uh huh. I'm using your dirty little secret to get what I want. I hope the irony's not lost on you." She softened, but only slightly. "Look. I'm not interested in an epic showdown. Just agree to accept this quietly, and I'll walk away."

"I…." His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine. You win." _Christ God, I've been outmaneuvered by a seventeen-year-old girl. I never thought I could sink so low._

She collected the papers from where they had fallen on the carpet and headed for the door; but, on the threshold, she turned back to him for a moment. "I'm sorry it had to come to this. I truly am. But this is what's best for everyone, I think."

He nodded slowly.

"And…say goodbye to Mom for me, will you?"

"We're not talking much anymore, but…yeah. Yeah, I'll do that."

"Goodbye, David."

It was the first time she had ever called him by his first name.

Only after she had closed the door did he whisper in reply:

"Goodbye, Victoria."


	7. You've Got Two

**A/N: Before I begin this (brief) chapter, a couple of responses to reviews, one specific, one more general:**

**To ****sparklelovee****: My apologies for offending you with the strong language in the last chapter. If it's any consolation, David isn't likely to be returning in the story, and none of the other characters will be cursing a blue streak anytime soon.**

**Generally: It's been intriguing to me to see how most reviewers are far more keen to know Trina's fate than Tori's. Not that I blame you; as I've said before, I adore Trina (and Daniella Monet), while Tori, despite being the show's protagonist, isn't usually a terribly interesting character. If nothing else, you've confirmed me in my decision to make my next multi-chapter tale, whatever it may be, Trina-centric.**

**Now, then: on with the show!**

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

Trina had been told that she was annoying more times during her life than she could count – often by her own parents. Perhaps, she thought, they were right. And yet now, when it was basically her _job_ to annoy, she suddenly found herself bashful and awkward.

"Uh…um…ma'am? Would you like to try a sample of Calvin Klein's new fragrance _Vortex_?" She held out the atomizer with a trembling hand.

"No, thank you, dear," replied the harried-looking elderly woman who was balancing heavy shopping bags in both hands. "I need to get to my car before I wind up with a separated shoulder or two."

"Well, then, let me help you carry…" Trina felt the disapproving glare of her supervisor, Mindy, on the back of her neck. She turned to see Mindy, who was currently manning the jewelry counter, wagging a finger at her. The message, though unspoken, was clear: _No leaving your post during work hours._

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Perhaps one of the security guards would be willing to assist you," said Trina weakly.

With a curt nod and a noncommittal grunt of farewell, the struggling customer headed for the exit.

Trina sighed and slumped backward against a rack of belts and Ralph Lauren neckties. Three weeks into this job, and she felt no more comfortable than she had on her first day. She was making sales – at least occasionally – but she couldn't see this as a career; it was a way to make enough money to eat – nothing more.

Often she flirted with the idea of quitting. Cat, whose sweetness appeared to know no bounds, was still happy to give her room and board for free, even though by rights Trina should have worn out her welcome long ago; Tori, too, had repeatedly offered to subsidize her until she found a job that she could truly enjoy. But Trina was bound and determined to stand on her own two feet. And, unpleasant though it might be to spritz complete strangers in the face with foul-smelling perfumes, at least she had the satisfaction of drawing a paycheck that was hers and hers only; she might have to give up Fezzini boots and Gucci handbags for cheap sneakers and purses from Wal-Mart, but better that than to depend upon her parents' financial indulgence.

The thought of her parents brought her mind back to the e-mail she had received four days ago. Their marriage was now officially over. Her father was selling the house; her mother had already moved into a small apartment, and was, ironically enough, currently job hunting. Two months ago the news would have devastated Trina, but now all she could muster up was a vague feeling of indifference, mixed (though she was ashamed to admit it, even to herself) with relief. Whatever might become of David and Holly Vega, at least they would no longer be living a hollow lie. For better or worse, they would be forced to confront the real world on its own terms – just as Trina was now doing.

Mindy coughed loudly: her official "Get your lazy butt back to work" signal. Trina returned her attention to her surroundings, set aside the nearly empty atomizer, and picked up another: Chanel's _Quest No. 7_. Frankly, it smelled like a mixture of sour milk and hot tar, but it was one of the priciest products the store offered, and every gift set Trina sold would net her a handsome commission.

She willed herself to step out into the aisle, where oncoming customers would be forced either to dodge her clumsily or acquiesce to trying a sample. Two girls about her own age – one blonde, one brunette – were approaching. There was something familiar about them. Trina racked her brain, trying to match the faces to names; then it hit her. Hayley and Tara. The stuck-up airheads who had been forced to babysit her after she had her wisdom teeth removed. _Of all the people I never wanted to see again…_

But she couldn't let her personal dislike get in the way of a possible sale. "Ladies!" she chirped with an artificial cheeriness, as she blocked their path with the skill of an offensive lineman. "Long time no see! I wonder if I could interest you in a sample of…"

"Get lost, you lunatic," Hayley snapped. "Have you forgotten? The last time we met, you put me in a freaking _chokehold_."

"So sorry about that. It was the drugs talking – I wasn't thinking straight. Anyway, with _Quest No. 7_, you'll be positively_ irresistible_ to any cute boy who-"

Tara snickered. "Do you have any idea how utterly _pathetic_ you look, Vega? What happened to that big fancy house of yours and all your designer clothing? Geez, how the mighty have fallen."

"It's…well…look, circumstances have changed for me. That's all."

"Right. 'Circumstances'. Let me guess: daddy's a tax cheat, and the IRS took all your stuff. Or maybe your folks finally realized what a leech you were, and threw you out?"

"That's not…not what happened…" Trina felt as though she were about to burst into tears.

"Oh, whatever. At any rate, it's just _delicious_ to see you like this. Have a nice day earning minimum wage!"

Trina trembled with rage and humiliation as she watched them depart, giggling to one another. Mindy walked over to her. "What in the world was _that_ about?"

"Nothing. Just…nothing. I'm sorry."

"All right, then. Pull yourself together and get back to it."

"Will do…" she whispered.

Two hours later, exhausted, she shuffled through the parking lot, looking for Cat's fire-engine red Corolla. The little redhead waved to her as she drew near.

"How was your day? Did you meet lots of cool new people? Did you sell a whole bunch of things? Did you know my brother swallowed a bug yesterday? Did you…"

Trina held out her palms in a "Stop" gesture. "Please, Cat. I'm really, really tired. Can we just go home?"

"Of course." Cat gave her an affectionate arm squeeze. "Tori called," she added as they clambered into the car. "She wants to know if you'd like to join her and Andre for dinner on Saturday. They're making sausage lasagna!"

Despite her exhaustion, Trina smiled. "That sounds great." After a moment, she added: "Thank God for Tori. With…all of this…I think I'd go crazy if I didn't have a sister who loves me and wants to help me out."

"But you don't," said Cat, matter-of-factly.

"W-what?" Trina stared at her.

The little redhead broke into a grin and lightly punched Trina on the shoulder. "You've got _two_ sisters who love you, Trina-beena-fo-feena."

"Cat…I…" Unable to find the words, Trina simply hugged Cat tightly and would not let go for a long, long minute.

At last Cat said, "Y'know, if you don't let me go eventually, we're gonna have to order take-out to be delivered to the car."

Trina laughed. "You do have a point." She released the little redhead. "Let's go h-…I mean, let's go to your house."

"You can say it, Trina," Cat said softly. "I know you want to."

Trina's eyes grew misty. "All right, then…_let's go home_."

They drove off into the twilight.


	8. And New Beginnings

**A/N: Upon reflection, I decided that this chapter would be a good natural conclusion to the story. And that is most certainly **_**not**_** code for "I've run out of good ideas." So put that thought out of your mind **_**right this instant.**_** *eyes shift from side to side guiltily***

**Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.**

Tori hummed softly to herself as she stirred the pot of green beans. The smell of lasagna wafted up from the oven and tickled her nostrils. Her stomach growled.

She was no master chef, and something had clearly gone awry with the beans; no matter how hard she tried to separate them, they remained stubbornly clumped together. Her arm was growing weary from the effort.

Andre entered the kitchen to take the lasagna pan from the oven, and saw Tori flagging. "Need a hand, babe?"

"Wouldn't mind it."

He laid his large, muscular hand over hers and began to push the wooden spoon about expertly; the clumps of green obediently disintegrated and swirled about in the hot water. Tori followed Andre's movements, and soon the two of them were in perfect sync, whipping the beans about with skill and grace. Tori thought she had never felt so content.

On an impulse, she pressed her head into the crook of Andre's neck. He was surprised, and she feared for a moment that he would pull away; but instead he smiled, that unabashed, wide-open grin that she had always treasured in him, and put his free arm around her waist, pulling her close as they continued to stir.

The doorbell rang.

"Oh, crud," Tori muttered. "Talk about your moment killer…"

Andre sighed. "I'll finish up here."

When she opened the door, Tori was greeted by a ninety-pound red-headed freight train that burst into the living room and caught her in a vise-like hug, almost knocking her over. "TORI! Tori Tori Tori Tori Tori! It's so good to see you! It feels like it's been forever since we've hung out together!"

"It's been _three days_, Cat."

"Oh, whatever." Cat sniffed the air. "Oh my gosh, that smells so GOOOOOD!"

"Yeah…no thanks to me. It's all Andre."

"So, he sings like an angel, he plays like a bajillion different instruments, _and_ he can cook?" Cat nudged Tori playfully in the ribs. "Time to snatch him up before somebody else beats you to it."

"Well…" Tori flushed. "I kinda may have _already_ snatched him up…"

It took Cat a moment to decode Tori's bashful expression; but when she did, she gasped and flung her arms around Tori again. "YAAAAAAY!"

"…And you've officially burst my eardrums."

"Oops. Sorry."

Behind Cat, Trina rapped gently on the frame of the open door. "May I come in?"

Tori smiled. "You know you're welcome here anytime." The two sisters hugged one another tightly.

"Are you surviving life with Cat?" Tori whispered in Trina's ear.

"Oh, Cat's awesome," Trina whispered back. "But her brother…don't even get me started."

"Dinner is served!" Andre called from the kitchen.

He had pulled out all the stops for this meal. The dining room was lit only by a polished gilt-bronze candelabra that stood in the middle of the great oak table, its six flames burning bright. Charlotte Harris had insisted that Tori and Andre use her best Wedgwood china and the Harris family silver, which glinted beautifully in the flicker of the candlelight.

They stood behind their chairs, waiting for Charlotte to arrive. She came down the stairs slowly, tentatively, her eyes upon Cat and Trina, neither of whom she had ever met formally before. Tori sensed the paranoia welling up inside the elderly woman's haunted brain.

With a visible effort, Charlotte collected herself. She turned to Andre and Tori. "They're…they're okay? They're friends?"

Andre nodded and said gently: "They're friends. You're safe, Grandma."

The lines of worry slowly vanished from her face. She took Cat's and Trina's hands. "Welcome."

Andre seated her, and then everyone else took their places. Tori, sitting across from Andre, gazed into his chocolate-brown eyes, half in shadow, half in light.

Trina noticed, and chuckled softly.

"What?" said Tori, blushing again. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Just thinking…my baby sister's growing up."

"_Baby_ sister?"

"You two be nice," said Charlotte Harris. "No squabbling at the dinner table. This here is a neutral zone – even for sisters," she added with a wink.

Cat poured sparkling grape juice into a crystal champagne flute and took a sip. "Okay, Tori? You need to talk some sense into Trina, right away. She keeps on trying to find an apartment, even though I keep telling her that she can stay with me as long as she likes."

Tori raised a quizzical eyebrow at her sister. "Where exactly are you looking?"

"South side, mostly. Not the greatest neighborhoods, and the rents are ridiculously high, but…it's independence, you know? And it's far away from…"

"…From our house?" Tori finished for her.

"…Yeah. I know Dad's selling it, but still…there are memories there that I want to get some distance from."

"I hear you."

After a moment, Trina said: "Do you think you'll ever speak to them again?"

Tori sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. One day. But there needs to be a lot of healing first."

Trina nodded. "It's just…it's weird, you know? They never really loved me, they lied to both of us, but…there's still a part of me that misses them. I don't get it. It doesn't make any sense."

"Family never does," said Charlotte. Everyone turned to look at her.

"When do you mean, Mrs. Harris?" said Tori.

"I mean, logic and reason only go so far when it comes to family. My son – Andre's father – is a terrible parent. He's lazy, and selfish, and neglectful, and I don't think I'll ever forgive him for abandoning Andre like he has. And yet, I still hope, every time I hear a knock on the door, that it'll be him. Because, when all is said and done, he's still my son. And nothing will ever change that."

Tori thought of the woman who had given birth to her, and the man who, while he might not share genes with her, had raised her for seventeen years. Charlotte was right – there was still a mysterious tie there, a longing deep in Tori's heart to be a family again. And perhaps the day would come when she and Trina could make their peace with their parents.

Perhaps.

"Okay, enough serious talk," said Andre. "It's time for a toast. Any suggestions?"

And to their astonishment, it was Cat – ditzy, spacy Cat – who had the perfect answer ready to hand:

"To new family, new love, and new beginnings."

They clinked glasses, and drank, and talked, and laughed, as the candles burned down to stubs and gave way to the warm, enveloping darkness of night.

**END**


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